


Champion

by starswholisten



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, brief Feyre/Tamlin at the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswholisten/pseuds/starswholisten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feyre Archeron is a Slytherin 5th year living in the shadow of her older sisters: Elain, a 6th year, a Hufflepuff with an affinity for Herbology and the OWLs to prove it, and Nesta, a 7th year Ravenclaw, who excels in Divination and just about everything else she does… and she doesn’t let anyone forget it.</p><p>This is the year Feyre won't let them overshadow her.<br/>It’s the Triwizard Tournament.<br/>When she finds a way to bewitch the goblet of fire (against her boyfriend Tamlin's wishes) and is actually picked for the Tournament, she is ready to prove herself. But when the exceptionally handsome and talented Rhysand from Durmstrang is chosen as well, Feyre must wonder if she enjoys his equally matched competition… or if she just enjoys competing against <i>him</i>.</p><p>ACOTAR/Hogwarts AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this is going but it's really fun to write.

My watch beeped once, softly, and I silenced it with a swipe of my hand. I had no time to waste as I kicked my forest green duvet cover to the floor. I was already dressed - I had “gone to sleep” in my clothes from the day before - so I slipped on my boots and quietly exited the Slytherin 5th year dorms. I didn’t wake anyone. Not even Mor, who slept like a boulder and had been up late reading anyway.

Before exiting the common room, I slipped my wand out of my pocket and cast a simple invisibility charm over myself as an extra precaution. No one would be getting in my way, though.

I had made my decision earlier that morning, and I wasn’t going to change my mind.

I had started to formulate my plan when I walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, Mor at my side, as always. She hadn’t had any coffee yet, though, so we were silent as we made our way to our normal seats at the Slytherin table. I saved one brief smile for my sister, Elain, who was sitting with her fellow gaggle of Hufflepuff 6th years, absent-mindedly conjuring peonies from her wand as they exchanged the latest gossip. She smiled back, an exaggerated grin that she gave everyone she knew, because she was friends with everyone she knew.

Mor started chatting about some incident with Cresseida being unable to solve the Ravenclaw common room riddle, again, as we sat down and began to eat breakfast. I was barely listening, my mind on the newest addition to the Great Hall.  
The Triwizard Cup. And, beneath it, the goblet of fire.

The other students had already arrived the evening before, and the Durmstrang boys were seated at the far end of the Slytherin table, the Beauxbatons ladies at Ravenclaw. I watched enviously as five Durmstrang men sauntered to the goblet and, with all the ease of tossing a scrap of paper in a trash can, dropped their names into it.

“Feyre, are you even listening to me?"  
I turned to Mor finally, only to see her eyes widen. She pointed a finger behind me and I swiftly turned back around to face the cup.  
Only to see Nesta standing, staring pointedly at it.  
Of course.  
My eldest sister began to stroll down the center of the Hall, face stony, never breaking eye contact with the cup. I saw Elain avert her attention from her friends and the look of pure horror on her face as she watched her favorite sister (even I could admit that) stop in front of the cup. Nesta smirked and, adjusting the collar of her robes to look more confident, stepped forward to drop her name in. Looking satisfied, she turned on her heel and began to walk more swiftly back to the Ravenclaw table.  
I grabbed the back of her robes when she tried to walk past me, and she whirled around. There was fire in her eyes.

“Nesta, what are you doing?"  
“I’m fulfilling a prophecy,” she snapped, snatching her robes out of my hand. When I gave her a confused look, she smiled deviously and continued. “I saw it, Feyre. In the orb. ‘Archeron’ inscribed on the cup. It’s mine."

Nesta didn’t allow me to respond as she headed back to her friends, all with smug looks on their faces as their Head Girl retook her place on the Ravenclaw throne.  
I whirled back to Mor. “Do you think…?"  
“It’s possible,” Mor pondered for a moment. She was just as good at Divination as Nesta was, if not better, but she likely couldn’t speak on something Nesta saw in her own orb.

I had nearly resigned myself to my fate as the lesser sister, once again, when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turned around again and my blood ran cold.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life.

And he was walking this way.

Well, toward the cup, which Mor and I were sitting fairly close to.

He was Durmstrang, no doubt about that. He had brilliant black robes thrown over his broad, muscular back, and hair that was almost the same color. His violet eyes twinkled as he beheld the cup, and I could have sworn those eyes flicked momentarily to me, staring at him, before he dropped his own name into the goblet.  
No, I was definitely not dreaming. He keep beholding me as he passed the Slytherin table, and then he winked.

_Winked._

I looked slowly at Mor, who was paler than the ghost of Jurian.

“Mor?"  
“That’s my cousin."  
“Your-"  
“My cousin. Rhysand."

I blinked. She went on, her voice cracking lightly. “We’re - estranged. I haven’t seen him since we were kids. I knew he went to Durmstrang but I thought he’d graduated-“ Her gaze hadn’t once left his retreating back. I almost deigned to ask her about their estrangement when a familiar voice echoed from behind me.

“I got you something."  
Mor snapped out of her trance long enough to wrinkle her nose at me as I turned around to face my boyfriend. Tamlin held his Gryffindor tie in one hand and a neatly wrapped package in the other. It looked like it had just flown in with the owl post not moments ago. I smiled at him as he held it out to me.  
“Thanks, Tam,” I said, untying the string and ripping the brown paper as he swung his tie around his neck.

A quill set. And an expensive one at that. Ink that changed colors, four different quill heads intended for painting, and shiny, crisp parchment. I placed it on the table, vaguely aware of Mor’s quiet scoff, and stood up to kiss him. “What’s the occasion?"  
“Oh, I just thought it would be nice to have something to distract you. What with all of this Triwizard Tournament nonsense,” he replied, taking my hand in his. I could've sworn I heard Mor gag and I flipped her off behind my back with my free hand. “I hear Nesta thinks she’s guaranteed to become the Hogwarts champion, and I thought you might be upset."  
I narrowed my eyes. “Why would I be upset?"  
“Oh,” Tamlin blushed and held my hand a little firmer. It almost hurt. “You know, your little spats with your sisters aren’t a secret. They’d probably both be fierce competitors, if Elain were old enough-"  
“And I wouldn’t?” My hand released his and I looked up at him quizzically.  
“Don’t be like this, Feyre. Your competitiveness is endearing, really, but I know you."

I could feel Mor gripping the table as I sized Tamlin up. He was a great boyfriend, really. He spoiled me. He loved me. But sometimes he just didn’t understand me. “What are you trying to say?"  
“Feyre,” he almost had the decency to look uncomfortable, but then he looked me straight in the eye with a look of pity. “Your magic is great, but I don’t think a competition like that is for you. Besides, I’d never let you get hurt in there."

And that’s when I decided to use my so-called great magic and prove my so-called boyfriend wrong. And enter the Tournament myself. Whether or not he wanted to _let_ me.

I shuffled quietly down the hallway, up several staircases out of the dungeons, and into the Great Hall without running into anyone. Miraculously.

When I approached the cup, and its subsequent age line, I shut my eyes and concentrated. Hard. I pointed my wand at the line, and uttered the incantation I had studied and memorized all afternoon from the Dark Arts book I stole from the restricted section.

It wasn’t a horrible book. Just one about playing with the minds of people. And objects. And anything, really. It was my specialty.

And, without so much effort as it would take a normal witch to use a Confundus charm, the age line disappeared.

And in it went. The slip of parchment from Tamlin’s new quill set with my name on it. _Feyre Archeron_.

As I left the Great Hall, pride etched in all of my features, I ran into two Ravenclaw boys in the hallway. Prefects on duty. And I hadn’t realized my invisibility charm had worn off.  
“What are you doing out here so late, Slytherin?"  
“Uh, I was-"

Before I could even think to run, a tall, dark figure appeared from around the corner.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you."


	2. Chapter 2

“Thank you for finding her for me,” Rhysand purred, looking over the prefects and directly into my soul.

I stood there, barely three steps into the hallway from the Great Hall, and contemplated what could happen.

The prefects could find out what I had done. I would probably have detention with Professor Attor for the next three months.  
I could use my _talents_ to make them forget I had even been there. I would risk someone finding out about _that_ , and I would be expelled.  
Or, I could let this mysterious and gloriously well-timed Durmstrang wizard take charge of the situation. I caught Rhysand's gaze and silently communicated with my eyes. _I’ll play along._

_Good choice_ , he seemed to say back. He glided over to my right side and snaked an arm around my waist. I noticed that the two Ravenclaw boys looked like they might wet themselves with fear.

“I was lost, she was showing me the way,” Rhysand mused, tightening his grip on me. He didn’t elaborate. As I peered up at him, I noticed that he actually managed to look bored.

The taller prefect looked over at the shorter one with a questioning look on his face, and the short one just shrugged. Looking at his hands, the tall one mustered up enough courage to speak at that point. “As hospitable as this is, I’ll still need to deduct ten points from Slytherin. Be on your way.” Both of the boys looked relieved to be finished with that conversation, and trudged toward the next hallway.

“Enjoy the night,” Rhysand casually called after them, and I could swear they picked up their pace a bit.

As soon as they rounded a corner, I spun out of Rhysand’s hold on me. He chuckled lightly. With as much bravado as I could manage, I crossed my arms and faced him.

“So,” he said, flicking dust off of his cloak, but not taking his eyes off of me. “What are you doing wandering these halls past curfew, anyway?"

I scowled at him. “I could ask you the same thing, considering you should be on your ship at this hour.” The Durmstrang students were all lodging in the enormous ship they had used to travel to Hogwarts, and it was anchored far, far from this spot in the castle.

He just looked at me, amusement written in his handsome features, but also something that looked like genuine interest. In me. It unnerved me. It felt like he was reading me, deeply, like he could see all of my darkest secrets. Well, two could play at that game. I began the process of examining his mental shields - only to find them blocked, masterfully, like he had a physical iron wall within him.

The bastard laughed again, raising an eyebrow. “You seem to have a affinity for mental magic. Not dissimilar to mine. Interesting,” he breathed, still not breaking my eye contact. He stepped closer - we were nearly sharing breath now, but I didn’t move. “I wasn’t aware Hogwarts taught that type of magic."  
“They don’t."  
“You bewitched that goblet, didn’t you?"  
His directness took me by surprise and I faltered, causing him to smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he said, holding out his arm. “Would you like an escort back to your common room? In case your invisibility charm wears off again."  
“I’ll find my way, thanks.” Of course he knew I was using that charm. He could probably see right through it. He probably saw me walk into the Great Hall earlier.  
He shrugged, turning on his heel, and bid me goodnight over his shoulder.

But some part of me wasn’t done unraveling the mystery of him. Some inner instinct took over as I called after him, “you never told me what _you_ were doing out at this hour."

“ _Au contraire_ ,” Rhysand turned back to me, somehow managing to look confident and uneasy simultaneously, his cloak billowing around him and his hands in his pockets. "I believe I told you I was looking for you."

I narrowed my eyes. He was a sly one, for sure, and I had no idea what to make of him. “Uh-huh,” I replied, tilting my head at him. “I’d better get back. Thank you, by the way, for, um, saving me."  
“Only if you think you needed to be saved."

I pursed my lips and nodded slowly before making my exit down the hall. I didn’t want to turn and look back, but I could feel his eyes piercing my back for the entire walk to the staircase.

\---------------

“Tell me about your cousin,” I asked Mor in the common room the next afternoon. There were very few students milling about at that hour - most were at lunch or in class. Mor and I were skipping Care of Magical Creatures to study for an upcoming Potions exam.

She flipped a page in her book idly before shutting it and looking over at me. “Rhysand?"

“Yeah. What’s his deal?” I was still flipping through my notes, trying to seem casual.

I hadn’t told Mor that I had put my name into the goblet of fire. I didn’t tell anyone - not Nesta, not Elain, and certainly not Tamlin. It was best that nobody knew unless my name was actually chosen. Nobody except Rhysand, of course, which was why I needed to get a read on him.

“Like I said,” Mor adjusted her position on the armchair and sat on her ankles, her knees facing outward. She always sat like that when she was nervous. “We’re estranged."

“Why? What did he do to you?"

“He didn’t _do_ anything,” Mor dropped her head back on the arm chair and sighed. “Our families are estranged. Our fathers are brothers, and they had an irreconcilable fight about work when I was twelve - it’s complicated - but Rhys and I were inseparable. Closest thing either of us had to a sibling. He has a younger sister now,” I lifted my head up to look at her. “I’ve never even met her."

“So you haven’t seen him since you were twelve.”

“Once. I saw him in Diagon Alley last summer. He definitely recognized me. He looked... sad. Like he missed me. I didn’t say anything though, and he didn’t say anything to me."

I couldn’t imagine what Rhysand would even look like sad. I returned to my distraction of flipping through Potions notes. “Doesn’t your father work for the Ministry?"

Mor blew on a stray strand of her golden blonde hair. “Yes. And Rhys’s father is Minister, now."

I paused and finally shut my book. “Rhysand’s father is the Minister of Magic?” Mor nodded. “Cauldron. Tamlin’s father hates the Minister."

“Well, my father and Tamlin’s father would be thick as thieves,” Mor deadpanned. “In fact, I think Tamlin himself would fit right in with my father. They’re both righteous, big-headed, controlling -"

I groaned, and this time I was the one throwing my head back onto the headrest of the armchair. “He means well, Mor."

“That doesn’t mean he’s not a tool, Feyre."

“I’m not having this conversation right now with you,” I ran my hands over my face once and slapped them down onto my knees. “Why does Rhys go to Durmstrang if his father is the Minister?"

Mor sighed, clearly unwilling to let go of the topic of Tamlin. “His mother went there,” she resigned. “And Rhys inherited most of his magical affinity from her, I think. Rhys is… really powerful. Unlike anyone I’ve met. And Durmstrang was just a better fit for his kind of magic."

I leaned forward. “What kind of magic?"  
“Dark magic, Feyre. Magic like yours."

Mor was the only person who knew about my magic. My sisters didn’t even know the extent of what I could do, and Mor was the only person in the world I could trust with my secret. She was the one who helped me sneak books out of the restricted section, spell-bound the blinds shut when the shadows leaked off me as I slept, and even allowed me to practice my mental shield magic on her.

“I didn’t even think Durmstrang allowed girls."  
“They don’t,” Mor replied. “Not usually."

I stared at her for another few seconds before I swung my legs over the arm of my chair and propped my book against my knees. I looked over the sentences, the ingredients lists, but I didn’t take any information in.

So that was why his mental shields were so impenetrable. That was why he basically emanated fear off his very person. That was why I felt… a connection. To him. He was dark, like all Durmstrang students, but in the same way as me.  
His dark magic wasn’t bad, or good, just… powerful. Relentless.  
Desired.  
Hunted.

I shook my head to clear my mind. “Hey, do you have any notes on Pepperup Potion-"

“Why do you want to know about Rhys?” Mor cut me off, but still tossed her notes over to me. I barely caught them and threw her a quick glare.

“I don’t know,” I said, chewing on the back of my pen thoughtfully. “He interests me."

“Well, even though I’m forbidden from speaking to him, I’d rather you date him than Tamlin."

I threw my notebook at her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A maybe-deviation from HP canon: Durmstrang allows women. Rarely. Think of it like the Illyrian war camp.


	3. Chapter 3

Since my name was already irrevocably swirling in the smoke of the goblet of fire, I decided that it wasn’t worth my energy to stay angry at Tamlin. When he approached me at dinner the following night, all smiles and apologies, and asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him the next day, I agreed. Much to Mor’s chagrin. She pelted at least six grapes at me when I told her I was bailing on our own plans to hang out with him.

Hogsmeade entailed the usual escapades of Tamlin trying to buy me lavish things that I didn’t need. Lucien, Tamlin’s best friend and fellow Gryffindor sixth year, tailed us all day long, groaning whenever Tamlin wanted to go in another store. Eventually, Tamlin couldn’t resist buying me a scarf. It was woven with essence of Amortentia, so that it always smelled like the wearer’s favorite scent.

The scarf was scarlet red, Tamlin’s favorite color. I was never a fan of the color red, but I would never be able to convince a Gryffindor to spend money on a green scarf.

I noticed that it smelled like citrus and the sea, a scent vaguely familiar, even though I couldn’t remember from where. Not from Tamlin, I silently noted. I stuffed it in my bag before he could ask me what it smelled like.

Later, the three of us holed up in The Three Broomsticks for steaming mugs of butterbeer and to get some studying done. Elain was there, too, and waved enthusiastically at us when we walked in. I could have sworn it was the first time that day that Lucien didn’t scowl.

Rhysand was also there. Alone. At the bar. When I saw him sitting there, I averted my gaze.

“How did your Potions exam go yesterday, Feyre?” Tamlin asked me when we were seated, placing his hand on my knee but not looking up from the notebook he had taken out. I must’ve been on edge, because I almost flinched when he touched me. Lucien looked up from his own book, eyes moving from Tamlin’s hand on my knee, to his friend’s impassive expression, to Elain, and back down.

I sighed. “It was alright,” I turned to peer at Tamlin, but he was only half-listening. “Mor and I got sidetracked studying last night."

He grunted a laugh. “How so?"

Lucien looked up again, this time at me. Maybe he noticed my comment for what it was - attempting to get Tamlin to care about anything I said for once - but he gave me an exasperated look. It seemed to say, _Don’t bother, Feyre._

“You know,” I held Lucien’s gaze and shot him a feline grin as I addressed his friend. “Just girl stuff."

Tamlin didn’t reply for a few moments, flipping the pages of his notebook and writing a few things in the margins with his quill. He was studying Transfiguration, his favorite subject, and was probably too immersed in the material to give his attention to anything I was talking about. His hand was still on my knee.

When he shut his notebook, I almost jumped a mile into the air in surprise. I managed to cover up my reaction by putting my hand on his, and Lucien looked away, as if he recognized he was interrupting something. Tamlin shifted his palm upward to take my hand as he stood up. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back to the castle."

Lucien, Tamlin, and I paid and exited the pub, walking along the dusty path out of Hogsmeade. The path was deserted, most students having left the village to make it back before dinner started. Hogwarts castle glistened on the horizon as the sun set, the sky a swirl of pinks and blues and purples. I gazed up at it - the Prythian sunsets never ceased to amaze me, even after five years of going to school here. It was like magic itself swirled in the sky where clouds or fog would be in the Muggle world.

I came out of my reverie as Tamlin deigned to acknowledge me. “Feyre,” he drawled, in his mock-fatherly tone. “Your OWLs are coming up soon.” He squeezed my hand. “Trust me, I’ve been there, and it’s hard to stay focused. But you really shouldn’t - you can’t - let Mor distract you from your studies."

I looked down at my boots. I wasn’t going to let him start in on me about my best friend after he’d actually managed to go a day without testing my patience. It was the prime moment to divert the situation. Instead, I lifted my head up, batted my eyelashes at him, and said, “Why, can you think of a better distraction, Tam?"

The look he gave me expressed a different kind of hunger than the one he might be feeling for food.

“Okay,” Lucien stepped ahead of us, clapping Tamlin on the back. “I’m going to walk ahead. I’ve got a lot of homework. Goodnight, Feyre.” He nodded his head at me and practically jogged up the path out of the village.

“Next time you want to ogle my sister in The Three Broomsticks, warn me first, Luc!” I called after him. Tamlin and I cracked up laughing when we heard him snarl.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Tamlin smirked at me and my laugh turned into a startled shriek as Tamlin pulled me into an alleyway. He backed me up against the brick wall of a building, pursing his lips.  
“He’s Elain’s Herbology partner,” he explained, his voice quiet and gruff. "Has a huge crush on her. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s best in the class and does all the hard work, or if it’s genuine."  
“They should get together. Maybe Lucien would leave us alone more often.” I pressed closer to him.  
“Mm, better get to work on that then."  
“I think we’re busy right now, Tam."

Tamlin was a lot of things. We had our issues and messy history, and my best friend hated him. But he was a _great_ kisser.

We hadn’t been alone in… a while. At least since returning to Hogwarts for the school year. And he hadn’t kissed me like this in even longer. Tamlin had one hand flat against the wall above my head and the other in my hair, with both of mine pressed against his chest. His tongue begged insistently for access to mine, and I obliged.

After several minutes, we broke apart. While this was fun, neither of us were fans of such public displays of affection, so we composed ourselves. Tamlin fished the new scarf out of my bag and wrapped it around my neck gently to hide a mark he had left there, and we began the trek back to the castle.

“I was being serious before,” he said, grabbing my hand. I gave him a quizzical look, completely dazed from our rendezvous in the alley. “About Mor. I at least can recognize when I’m distracting you, but she’s not as studious as we are..."

Cauldron. He had a way of ruining a moment. “Tamlin, I told you when we started all of this. Sisters, off limits. Friends, off limits-"  
“I know, but,” he rubbed his forehead with his free hand, suddenly frustrated. “I feel more hostility from her lately. She hates me, Feyre, and I don’t want her to corrupt your perception of our relationship-"  
“I can think for myself, Tam,” I interrupted him, stopping in the path. A disgruntled band of Ravenclaw third years gave us a dirty look when they had to break apart to walk around us. “I love you, but Mor’s been my best friend since first year. So drop it."  
“I’ve done so much for you, Feyre. You could repay the favor for once."  
I paled. “And you know I’m grateful for that."

I was momentarily speechless at his insinuation. We stood there, still blocking the path, eyes locked in a dead standoff.

He had done a lot for me. More than any boyfriend ever should have to do. More than I could have ever asked. I just never thought...

I never thought he would throw it back in my face. I thought his love for me and mine for him made it all worthwhile. He was the one who offered me help in the first place, after all. But lately, there was more guilt-tripping. More resentment. And I couldn’t afford it - I was too dependent on everything he did for me, as much as I hated to admit it.

It all came at such a great price. I felt like, sometimes, I belonged to him. Not just my heart, which I’d willingly given to him, but my body and soul.

And Mor… Mor was the only part of my life that was still mine.

I was crying. I only realized it when a tear fell onto my new scarf, and a wave of the citrusy sea scent washed over me like a wave.

Then, I realized that scent was much too strong to be coming from a scarf with so little potion laced within it. When I glanced up, he was standing a few feet behind us, arms crossed, and looking pointedly at me.

“Is everything okay, here?” Rhysand directed his question at me, but it was Tamlin who answered.

“We’re fine,” he snapped. He looked away from me finally and stepped to my side, clearing the path. “Move along."

Rhysand didn’t move. He was still staring at me, eyes questioning, ignoring Tamlin’s answer. He wanted mine, I realized. His gaze moved to Tamlin, and, lip curling, he took a step forward. “I believe I was talking to her."

“Yeah, well, buddy, you don’t get to talk to her. I said move along.” Tamlin gripped my arm possessively and pulled me back off the path, using his other hand to gesture to the castle. I stumbled and let out a small yelp of surprise, but Tamlin didn’t let go of me.

Rhysand’s expression contorted into fury as he paced forward, stopping dead in front of Tamlin. He was at least six inches taller, and more muscular, and watching the standoff made my blood go cold.

“Don’t touch her like that.” Rhysand’s words were more sharply honed than the Sword of Gryffindor.  
“Do you know him, Feyre?"  
Rhysand turned to look at me expectantly. He wasn’t going to answer for me, I realized, and I didn’t know what to say. “We’ve met. He’s... um…” I sighed. “He’s Mor’s cousin,” I finished quietly. I saw a flash of surprise in Rhysand’s eyes at my knowledge, and Tamlin huffed a short laugh.  
“Well then,” he finally released my arm, and I rubbed at it absentmindedly. "I can touch her however I want. She’s my girlfriend. Leave us alone."

Rhys let loose a low growl and before anyone could make a wrong move, I stepped between them, facing Rhys. “Hey,” I held my hands up as he stepped back, folding his arms in front of him again. “I’m okay."

I could tell he didn’t believe me, but his face softened slightly. I nodded for emphasis and dared to attempt my power on him, knocking lightly on his incredibly strong mental shields. He granted me access immediately. _I’m okay. I can handle him._ He nodded back tersely, and let out a sharp exhale. Still looking at me, he said to Tamlin, “Don’t you dare touch her again.” He stalked off, robes flowing behind him, leaving Tamlin and I in the dust.

I stepped away from Tamlin back into the path, and gazed down at my shoes. I was breathing heavily, my heart racing, and I could still feel the tension hanging thickly in the air. My head was spinning with anger, fear, and something else, something more suffocating than I could bear -

And then Tamlin laughed.

I whirled on him, and his arrogant expression made me want to slap him. “Piece of work, that one. Who does he think he is, anyway?” Tamlin went to grab my hand. “We’ll talk about this later, oka-"

I pulled my hand away. “Please,” I croaked. “Don’t touch me right now."  
Tamlin wiped the arrogant grin right off his face. “Feyre-"  
“Whatever, Tam. Let’s go back, I have a Charms quiz on Monday to study for."

As we walked back to the castle in complete silence, I knew I had been brash. Too brash. I knew I’d need to fix this sooner or later, but I couldn’t bring myself to care at that point.

And when I stalked immediately down to the Slytherin common room upon returning to the castle, I didn’t care about skipping dinner. I didn’t care that I’d need to come up with some elaborate apology to satiate Tamlin’s ego later.

All I cared about, as I flopped down on the couch and buried my nose into my scarf, was one question.

Why did the bloody thing smell like Rhysand?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took a while to update, this chapter took a lot of forward-planning!

I had never seen the Great Hall so crowded. Every student from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons sat around the four House tables, with more flowing in, and the members of the Hogwarts staff struggled to fit along their own magically elongated table on the dais. The Hogwarts Headmaster, Professor Helion Spell-Cleaver, sat at the center, face grave, his eyes locked on the Goblet of Fire in his direct line of vision. The Durmstrang Headmaster and Beauxbatons Headmistress flanked him on either side, also with eyes on the Goblet.

It was smoking. And three empty golden chairs sat just behind it, waiting.

Headmaster Spell-Cleaver had announced at breakfast that morning, his hands ever-clasped to his glowing wooden staff, that the Goblet had taken the weekend to mull over its decision, and would choose the three champions at dinner that night. As if the cup had a mind of its own. I didn’t doubt it.

Mor and I sat squished together at our usual spot at the Slytherin table, the space tight to allow the Durmstrang students to sit at the other end. I struggled to keep my gaze on the empty plates in front of me and not toward the black-clad men, not toward Rhysand. Mor looked at me questioningly, but she likely just thought I was nervous that Nesta’s name would come out of that Goblet.

And I was. But I was more nervous for what I would do if it didn’t. If it wasn’t her name, but mine. How I would explain it to her, to Elain, to everyone.

The candlelight dimmed in the Great Hall as the last stragglers filed in, and Headmaster Spell-Cleaver stood from his seat. The room quieted.

“Students,” he began, “the Triwizard Tournament begins tonight."

The Goblet glowed faintly green and the smoke began to billow out more quickly.

I hardly listened as he explained, briefly, the history and purpose of the tournament. I knew it wasn’t truly about the “friendly competition” and the “forging of bonds between the schools”, as he claimed. I knew that the Triwizard Tournament was a fierce battle of dominance and power between the courts, and the respective schools each sent its students to.

Beauxbatons was the school of Hybern, a remote island kingdom off the coast of the main continent. I knew very little about the territory and the school itself, but I knew they must be very powerful to rival a much larger school like Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was the school of Prythian, located in the neutral land in the center of the continent. The seven courts of Pythian - Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Day, Dawn, and Night - founded the school of magic upon the forming of their alliance thousands of years ago. From the beginning, the courts had disagreed on the way the school was to be run. Most issues were settled upon compromise, all but one. The Night Court, the northernmost court of Prythian, had advocated for the inclusion of dark magic in the Hogwarts curriculum, and all six other courts had protested. Unwilling to compromise, the Night Court left the school and formed their own in the northernmost mountains of the continent, Durmstrang Institute.

Night remained in the political alliance, but Night Court families very rarely sent their children to Hogwarts. The school would occasionally take Night Court children wishing to attend, albeit begrudgingly, and only in the hopes to weed out dark magic from the continent. Otherwise, Hogwarts trained only witches and wizards from the six other courts.

There were exceptions, of course. Mor herself was from the Night Court, and had defied her family’s wishes when she accepted a special invitation to attend Hogwarts and receive training for her light powers from the master of light himself, Headmaster Spell-Cleaver.

And then there was me. And my sisters. Three anomalies from the Muggle Lands in the south of Prythian, below the wall, where witches and wizards were forbidden, where people feared them and steered clear from their lands. Where the Muggles lived, and the people didn’t have any magic at all.

Except for us.

I allowed myself to briefly think about my home, to wonder how it had changed in the years since I had been there. I wondered where my sisters now lived, if it was anything like the manor we had called home before our mother had died and left us with the burden of her lifelong secrets. I wondered how my father was holding up, how he kept himself occupied while the three of us were at school. How he kept the neighbors from asking questions. It hit me then that I hadn’t seen him in two years.

“The selection of the champions,” Spell-Cleaver’s change in subject brought me out of my reverie, “will occur within the next few moments. Champions are not chosen lightly. The Goblet of Fire knows which student from each school had the most potential, the most power, the most bravery, and the most wit. The ancient magic of the Goblet is final, is law. Those chosen as champions are bound to the Tournament, bound to the honor of their school. I do hope that you entered your names wisely, for if you are chosen, you must compete. The Goblet follows different rules than you or I, and will not recognize any restrictions we may have put on the cup. Be warned.” I gulped.

Just then, the cup turned from its faint glow of green to a bright, blinding white. Smoke turned to steam, and it faintly began to hum.

“It is time,” Spell-Cleaver said. “Beauxbatons first."

The entire Hall held its breath. I glanced toward the dais, where the red-haired Beauxbatons Headmistress stood from her chair, her features haughty, her stance proud. Mor scowled.

The Goblet began to whistle, and a great burst of icy blue flame erupted from it suddenly. Everyone gasped as a small slip of cream-colored paper shot into the air and floated slowly to the palm of the Headmistress’s hand. She opened it hastily, and smirked greatly as she announced, “From Beauxbatons, the school of Hybern, Ianthe Fausse!"

The Beauxbatons students at the Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers, and in the middle of them all, a female student rose from her seat. Her golden hair gleamed and framed her beautiful face as she began to walk to the front of the Hall, her light blue robes swishing around her. Her slim, womanly body didn’t exactly scream “power”, but maybe that would be her greatest weapon.

When she approached the dais, she bowed to her Headmistress, returning her smirk, and took the first seat on the dais as directed. Her fellow students were still cheering.

I took the opportunity of the attention on Beauxbatons to peer around the Ravenclaw table they were seated at, and found my sister. She wasn’t clapping politely, like most other Hogwarts students, and her face was hard, focused on the Goblet. Trying to will her name out of the damned thing, no doubt. As I turned my head back to point her out to Mor, I caught Tamlin’s eye at the Gryffindor table just beyond, his gaze piercing me. I looked away. I didn’t have the words for him right now, or the willpower to look at the half-hearted apologies written on his face.

The applause died as the Goblet again burned white, and the Durmstrang Headmaster rose. His black leather ensemble made his hard features all the more intimidating, and he walked to the Goblet with purpose. I dared a glance down the Slytherin table, only for violet eyes to meet mine. Rhysand and I held the stare for several moments, until I felt Mor squinting suspiciously at me, and I reluctantly turned away as the Goblet burned a dark, deep midnight purple.

I knew instantly what name it would eject.

The faded paper floated on a shadow to the Headmaster’s waiting hand, and he didn’t flinch, as if he, too, knew what the paper would say.

“From Durmstrang, school of the Night Court, Rhysand Notte!"

Mor went white as Durmstrang erupted into roaring celebration, and I watched as Rhys slowly stood up from the table, two other dark-haired males clapping him on the back as he went. He casually ran a hand through his own hair as he walked, looking unfazed, unafraid, unfeeling. Wearing a mask of cold, calculating power. I knew it was a mask, it had to be, after what he had tried to do for me yesterday in Hogsmeade. He did not look at me as he passed, as if even a small glance would break his demeanor, though I did not tear my eyes from him. I had a desperate desire to figure him out, for whatever reason.

He approached his Headmaster, shaking his hand unceremoniously, and took the middle seat. As Ianthe shook his hand, I could have sworn he scowled behind her at Tamlin, and I let out a small laugh.

Mor saw it too. “What was that all about?” she asked, taking a deep breath, some color returning to her face.

I ignored her as Spell-Cleaver stood from his chair. The whole Hall went dead quiet.

Mor grabbed my hand, her unanswered question forgotten. She patted the back of it with her other hand. “It won’t be Nesta, Feyre."

Indeed.

The Goblet burned white for a long while, longer than the other two times. As if it were contemplating, second-guessing, or even as if it were… surprised. Spell-Cleaver was wary, his brows knitted together in concern, his eyes on the flames as they slowly, slowly, burned a very pale gold-green.

And the Goblet spit out a bit of charred parchment.

“From Hogwarts,” Spell-Cleaver unfolded the parchment, and his features turned to pure panic. “This can’t be right,” he mumbled to himself, so only those sitting close to the front, as I was, could hear.

He stared at the paper for a moment, as the whole Hall held its breath, and finally huffed out a sigh, resigned to fate. “From Hogwarts, the school of Prythian’s allied courts, Feyre Archeron."

No cheers. No applause. Pure shock ran through the Great Hall as Mor ripped her hand from mine and stared at me incredulously. “Feyre-"

I stood, abruptly, before she could finish her thought, and held my head high. _Breathe_. I commanded myself. _Walk. Look straight ahead._

But I couldn’t. I hadn’t taken a single step before the complete and utter rage in Nesta’s eyes drew my gaze to her. I looked away only to meet Elain’s eyes, tears swimming in them, her hand grasped on the shoulder of one of her friends. She started to stand, too, and I shook my head at her. She remained seated, a tear streaming down her perfect face.

And I turned to walk to the dais, finally catching Tamlin’s eyes. I saw only shock, only pure, genuine surprise, and I almost wanted to feel offended.

I didn’t breathe as I walked, and I struggled not to shake as I approached Headmaster Spell-Cleaver. He did not shake my hand, he did not move a single inch. “You are a fifth year,” he stated evenly, quiet enough that only the other staff members would hear.

“Yes, sir."

He considered me for a moment, his nostrils flaring gently. “The youngest of the Muggle-born sisters."

I swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Best of luck,” he said, and gestured to the final chair.

I slowly climbed the dais, feeling the heat of the Goblet on my skin, and trying hard to keep my composure. I felt the shocked faces behind me, the glare of the Durmstrang Headmaster, the sinister sneer of the Beauxbatons Headmistress.

And when I locked eyes with Rhysand, I saw two things.

I saw his mask of indifference, of sizing me up, of dismissing me as easy competition. The emotions he was expected to have were shown in the features of his face and his posture.

But where I looked, into those violet eyes rimmed with silver, I saw him, really saw him. That’s when I started to wonder, and gave him a questioning look, opening a sliver in my mind for him.

Because in his eyes I saw determination, I saw reverence, I saw hope.

And into my mind, his purring voice emerged. _This will be an interesting adventure, Feyre darling._

As I sat, applause finally began, without the whooping and hollering that had greeted the two at my side.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament!"

_Champion._

Not until I won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ianthe's last name, Fausse, is French for "false". Rhys's last name, Notte, is Italian for "night".  
> Thanks to Emily for Rhys's last name!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it has been a long time. i am sorry. my brain during my first semester of law school could not handle updating this. it's too complex to write on a whim at 12am after hours of homework.
> 
> but now that i'm on break, i hope to update with a few more chapters for you all before i return to school, and hopefully now that i've finished my mor prequel, i can give this child more attention.
> 
> that being said, i really hope you enjoy the update! i'm kind of glad i waited until my nesta obsession blossomed before writing this chapter.

I heard them whispering it as the Headmasters escorted us from the Great Hall. The name that chased me, haunted me, had given the whole world a certain expectation of me since I stepped foot in Prythian five years ago.

_Cursebreaker._

That was what they called me. In this world of magic, I was Feyre Cursebreaker, the final Archeron sister to show her magic. The girl who showed the world that when Muggles and wizards breed, all of their children will have magic too.

I was the reason that they watched us so carefully for all of those years. The reason they broke my father’s leg and ordered him never to tell anyone. And I was the reason they let us starve when we crossed the wall and went back to the Muggle lands, the reason they almost let us die.

_That’s her. That’s Feyre Cursebreaker._ They whispered it in awe, like it was something to be proud of.

I blocked them out, all of them, and stared at Rhysand’s back as I exited the hall behind him. We were lead to a conference room and Headmaster Spell-Cleaver held the door for all of us, his gaze lingering a bit too long on mine as I passed through.

The moment he shut the door, the tension in the room exploded into fury.

“She cannot participate,” the Durmstrang Headmaster proclaimed, his words clipped, eyes digging into my body like pickaxes. “Look at her. She’s a little girl."

“Interesting,” the Beauxbatons Headmistress purred, and at her voice I immediately decided I did not like her. Not one bit. “Are you afraid that your Champion cannot prevail against two women, Devlon?"

Headmaster Devlon growled low in his throat. I glanced at Rhysand briefly, but his face gave away nothing. “My Champion needs a fair fight. That’s what I’m saying. Two girls, especially one so young, and from the Muggle realms, no less-"

Headmaster Spell-Cleaver clapped his hands gently, quieting Devlon into shocked silence, and effortlessly grabbed the attention of all of us. “The cup has spoken. However, there is a loophole. Should all headmasters agree to disqualify a candidate, we may do so.”

My blood ran cold. No. I needed-

“I do not object, Helion,” the Beauxbatons Headmistress said, her dark, ebony eyes searching me, a menacing smile on her bloodred lips. I had to force myself not to cower under that gaze.

_Why was she defending me?_ I wondered. I wasn’t sure if it was merely because I was a woman, like her own Champion, or if it was because she knew about me. I vowed to myself that I would find out.

“Apologies, Devlon, but I must agree with Headmistress Amarantha,” Spell-Cleaver said, the wrinkles on his face softening. "Feyre has been chosen, and I have faith that her abilities far outweigh her class year."

Devlon narrowed his eyes in defiance. “She hasn’t even taken her OWLs-"

“She managed to fool the cup.” It was Rhysand who spoke this time, and I snapped my head to him. Those violet eyes were stoic, betraying no emotion. “Surely that goes beyond my own magic, does it not?"

Devlon snarled at his Champion and opened his mouth to speak, but Spell-Cleaver interrupted him.

“Enough. We have business to attend to,” he dismissed Devlon with a wave of his hand, and turned to the three Champions. We had all been waiting for them to decide my fate, but now we truly realized why we were taken into this room.

We were about to receive our first clue.

“Ladies. Gentleman,” Spell-Cleaver nodded to Rhysand, and he nodded back, “You have been chosen to represent your school in the Triwizard Tournament. I’m sure you all know what you’ve gotten into.

“There will be many dangers in this Tournament. I myself do not yet know what lies ahead, but I want you all to be prepared. Your very lives are at risk. One instance of straying from the rules may lead to great peril.” Spell-Cleaver paused, giving us a chance to speak. None of us did. We all were well aware of the danger.

“Your first task will take place in two weeks time. In three nights, a clue will arrive to your seat in the Great Hall at sundown. Be there to receive it. You must decipher it on your own, no assistance from anyone.” He briefly turned to the other headmasters, as if daring them to contradict him. “That will be all. Congratulations, and good luck to you all."

I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding as we exited the room. I was the first to leave - eager to escape before anyone could corner me or question me - and made my way swiftly to the end of the hallway before pressing my back again the cool stone wall and closing my eyes.

I was in. I made it. Now all I had to do was win, and I could take my life back.

I felt him before I saw him, that midnight gaze on me and that scent filling my senses. I pressed myself off the wall before I opened my eyes, finding him leaning just opposite of me.

“Why did you defend me?” I found myself asking. I didn’t even realize that I had wondered it until the words left my mouth. And I didn’t know if I meant just now, in the meeting, or that day in Hogsmeade when he’d defended me against Tamlin.

Rhysand chuckled, a deep laugh that skittered over my bones. “I meant what I said, Feyre darling. I believe this will be an adventure with you.” As vague an answer as my question was. His smirk made my heart race and I willed myself to breathe evenly.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You do know we’re competitors, right?"

“That I do.” His eyes shone in the light from the hallway lanterns. “I enjoy a challenge."

His calculated words were strategic, I knew, but gave away no ill intentions. “You’ll get one,” I replied, giving him a smirk of my own.

Those violet eyes sparkled with anticipation as Rhysand lifted himself from the wall and sauntered over to me. He moved with such lethal grace that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had his wand stashed up his sleeve, or another sort of weapon hidden in those billowing robes of his. But I also knew he wouldn’t hurt me - I had no fear, only curiosity, for this man who was supposed to be my enemy for the next year.

He smiled down at me as he stopped a few feet away. “You know Mor.” It wasn’t a question, only a declaration of the fact he had learned that evening in Hogsmeade.

“She’s my best friend,” I answered. He only shook his head.

“Lesson one. Don’t reveal your weaknesses to people you don’t know if you can trust."

I frowned. “What do you-"

“They say we can’t receive help on the clues. That doesn’t mean we can’t help each other in… other ways,” he whispered.

I was officially confused. Why did he want to help me in the first place? But I didn’t show it as I continued to hold his gaze.

“Tell her I miss her,” was all he said. Revealing a weakness, I realized, just as he had told me not to do. A subtle way of disclosing his trust.

With a wink and a swoop of his robes, he was gone.

\-----

It was late when I returned to my dorm that night, and the lights were off in the common room. I flicked them on to find the room empty. Save for two.

My sisters.

Nesta had never in her seven years at Hogwarts stepped foot in the Slytherin common room. And yet there she was, scowling, sitting in Mor’s usual armchair beside a reluctant Elain, who looked as if she had been dragged there against her will.

I gulped.

“How dare you,” Nesta bit out without preface as she stood from the chair, robes swirling behind her as she stalked up to me. “You knew I wanted it, Feyre, you _knew_ -"

“Nesta,” I replied as calmly as I could with her icy gaze ripping me in half, for Elain’s sake. She was already tearing up and shrinking so far into the couch that I could hardly see her. “You know I had to. I did this for us-"

“Us?” she snorted. A sly, mocking smile spread across her face that I knew to mean violence. “No, Feyre. If this had been about us, you would have just let me take care of something for once. If you resent me so much why didn’t you just sit back and give me a shot at the prize money instead of trying to overshadow me again?"

I blinked to try to dissipate the red hot anger fogging my eyesight. “This isn’t about trying to overshadow you, Nesta. I don’t care-"

“Of course you care. Little Feyre, the youngest Archeron. _Cursebreaker_ ,” Nesta flung the name at me with venom. “Always in the shadows of her sisters, the hidden dagger in the night. And you just had to show it now, didn’t you, when I’m trying to do something to repay you, for once.”

“Why now?” I screamed, not caring if the whole of Slytherin house heard me. “Why do you suddenly care enough to do something for our family when I was the one who had to get up off my ass and take care of everyone when Mother died and Father checked out?"

Nesta fumed, temper rising, but I held my ground as she stepped even closer. “You haven’t made it easy, Feyre. Every time I try to do something, _anything_ , you one-up me. Ever since you moved in with Tamlin, ever since you gave everything up for us, I feel like I owe you something.” Her face softened slightly, her fire cackling to embers. "It’s not right. We never asked for this from you, Feyre. You shouldn’t be there with him."

I closed my eyes briefly, and heard Elain sobbing as I took a breath to steady myself. Nesta seemed to notice at the same moment, and her entire demeanor changed to chaotic concern as she rushed to our sister’s side. “Look, now you’ve made Elain cry,” she sneered as she took Elain’s hand in her own. They both looked at me then, waiting for a response. Waiting to hear why I had destroyed Nesta’s chance to be the older sister, to take care of us. I hesitated, a tear rolling down my own face.

Maybe Nesta was right. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I needed this. I needed to win this to heal myself and my family at the same time.

“I’m sorry. I know you try, Nesta. But,” I paused to gather up the courage to form the words that ate me alive every single day. “I need to be the one to do this. I need to gain my own independence."

Nesta simply looked at me, gaze unflinching. I continued on.

“He’ll- he’ll never let me leave if I don’t do this myself. Please, Nesta,” I was begging now, and I didn’t care. “Elain. Please understand."

I watched as Elain wiped her eyes and stirred in the agony of silence as Nesta continued to stare at me. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, and Nesta had long ago learned to guard against my mind magic. So I waited. It felt like hours before she walked back over to me, head held high. Her brows knotted in the middle. “He better not have hurt you,” she finally said.

I shook my head. Not physically, at least.

“Do you still love him?"

The question surprised me, and I opened my mouth for a moment before replying. “I do,” I said evenly. “But I need to show him that I’m not his pet. Nor will I ever be."

Nesta nodded absently, eyes wandering to the walls of the common room. She probably hated it here, with the slime on the walls and the lack of proper bookshelves. The disgust on her face revealed as much.

Elain sniffled and stood from the couch, walking over to us and embracing us both in a hug. “I understand, Feyre,” she whispered. “I want you to come home."

“Me too,” I breathed.

Nesta pulled away from us swiftly and headed toward the door, only turning around as she reached for the doorknob. “You’d better win, Feyre. I’m betting on you."

It was the kindest statement I could hope to receive from my oldest sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're confused about feyre's past, don't worry! keep those bits of her past like pieces to a puzzle and soon all will fall into place :)


	6. Chapter 6

Mor was sitting on her bed reading her Charms book when I woke up the next morning.

I pretended to be asleep for a few moments, afraid of what she would say about yesterday’s events. I couldn’t tell if her surprise had been just that - surprise - or something like anger. I felt bad for not telling her about my plan, I realized.

“I know you’re awake, Feyre,” she chirped.

I groaned. Nothing got past Morrigan Notte. It was like she knew the truth of everyone the moment she looked at them.

Tossing my blankets aside, I sat up and locked eyes with her as she closed her book. “So, you’re a Champion, huh? How did that happen?"

“Mor, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you-"

My heart nearly launched out of my chest when she began to laugh.

“Oh, Feyre. Did you think I’d be mad? Please,” Mor swung her legs over the side of her four-poster bed and trudged over to mine, the ponytail she always slept in bouncing as she lept up beside me. “You’re a Slytherin. This is expected. Now, catch your breath because I want to know how you did it. Did you use your mind magic? Tell me everything."

I stared at her for a moment before throwing my arms around her neck and hugging her tightly. Sometimes, it was nice to be reminded that I had one person in my life who accepted me without a second thought, who supported me and defended me even if I didn’t deserve it. 

So I told Mor everything, about finding the book in the library, about sneaking out past curfew and willing the Goblet to merge its mind with mine. _I am fire_ , I’d mumbled. _I am flames and power and wisdom. I am the selector of the strongest, the elector of the elite, the chooser of Champions_. And it had believed me, trusted me. Mor laughed again when I told her I’d thrown a piece of parchment Tamlin had given me in the Goblet, for nothing but pure spite.

“That’s when I met Rhys,” I finished, looking down at my hands. “He caught me in the act. Saved my tail from a couple of prefects, actually.” I looked back up at her to find her brows knitted, face somber and filled with… longing. “He told me to tell you he- he misses you."

Mor nodded. She didn’t ask when he’d told me or how he’d known I would relay the message. She simply rested her head on my shoulder, her ponytail falling across my back in blonde waves.

The silence was exactly the peace we both needed, if only for a moment.

After a while, Mor whispered, “You’re not doing this for the glory."

No, not quite.

I shook my head and she felt it. Mor lifted hers from my shoulder and pierced my gaze with her warm brown eyes, something like pride floating in the golden speckles scattered throughout. “Have you talked to him, or told him your reasons?"

Again, I shook my head. “I’ve got a long day ahead of me, Mor."

She nodded, and then pulled me in for another hug, and neither of us moved for a while. “No one owns you, Feyre,” Mor said into my neck. “It’s about time he learned that."

\-----

Mor stood close by my side as we walked into Transfiguration that afternoon. We had skipped breakfast, opting instead to eat some sweets Mor had bought in Hogsmeade, so I could have more time to think about what I would say to Tamlin. But we had to go to class with the Gryffindors, so there was no avoiding him now.

To my surprise, he didn't even look up when I sat down in my normal seat behind him. I found myself increasingly anxious at his distance, which I had not at all expected. I knew it would be simply too easy for this to just blow over like an errant wind. No, when Tamlin was angry, he showed it. I knew that better than most.

Lucien gave me sideways glares throughout class, watching to see if I would initiate any sort of conversation with Tamlin. As if it was my duty to apologize to him for what I had done. 

And perhaps I should apologize. I'd likely put Tamlin through a lot of stress in the last day, wondering why I'd entered, why I hadn't told him. Wondering how it would affect him, his reputation, his life. Because I was his girlfriend, so of course, what I did reflected on him.

But then I remembered Mor's words from this morning - _No one owns you_ \- and wiped those thoughts from my head. 

After class, as I was trudging over to Mor's desk to leave, he stepped swiftly in front of me. His face was stony, brows furrowed, and he extended his hand.

"Come with me," Tamlin said, more gently than I had expected, so I didn't even recognize it as the order it was until he was practically pulling me through the corridors to the one place where anyone could have a private conversation in this castle.

Tamlin let go of my hand long enough to pace back and forth impatiently infront of the empty wall several times. Nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.

Sighing to myself, and wondering vaguely what he would do if he tried to access this place alone one day, I whispered quietly in my mind:

 _I need a place to have a private conversation._

The door appeared moments later.

I had known about the Room of Requirement since my third year. There was one night, particularly distressed about my home situation, that I'd slumped against this wall in tears and stayed long after curfew, unable to bring myself to go back to my own common room. I had heard footsteps coming and panicked, and that was when the door had appeared. After it had provided me with everything I had needed for temporary comfort in that moment - a bed, a book, and a large tray of pumpkin pasties - I had done a bit of research. Of course, all the information I would ever want to know about the Room of Requirement was tucked away in my dusty, unread copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. Who would have known?

From then on, it had become my safe space. Mor and I would go there to practice our darker abilities, far from prying eyes. I would go there to unwind, the room providing me with a blank canvas of four white walls to paint when I needed to release my stress. The Room was mine, solely mine, until I had made the mistake of showing it to Tamlin on a lust-induced whim. I still kicked myself for it. He always knew where to find me now, and even if he couldn't get in, I knew he or Lucien would be waiting outside the door when I emerged. So I'd just... stopped going. It wasn't worth it, not anymore.

"I swear it takes longer every time," Tamlin grumbled as the knob materialized on the door, grabbing my hand again and leading me into the room. I noted how the Room formed the same cozy sitting room it always did when I came with Tamlin, even though nothing about this visit would be cozy.

Tamlin let go of my hand and padded over to one of the chairs, sitting at the edge as he placed his head in his hands. I delicately sat on a couch, far enough away to feel like I still had some self-autonomy. One look at the small, single door that was my only exit had me thinking twice.

"Feyre, I don't-" Tamlin started, shaking his head against his palms. "I don't understand."

"Tamlin," I breathed his name gently, as if soothing an agitated animal. "If you let me explain-"

"I DON'T-" he repeated, louder this time and teeth gritting together, lifting his head to look at me finally. Huffing in frustration, he ran a hand through his long, blonde hair. And looked at me expectantly, which I assumed was my cue to proceed.

I sighed and shifted forward in my seat. "I need this prize money, Tam. For my family, for my sisters," I let out a shaky breath. "For me."

"I take care of you, Feyre. You don't need money," Tamlin stood, and began to pace. "You have a home, your family has everything they could ever need. Because of me. You don't need-"

"But I do." My voice cracked. "You've done enough for my family, Tam."

He stared at me for a moment before responding. "What is that supposed to mean," he snapped. "Are you trying to say you don't want to be with me anymore?"

A tear leaked out and I cursed myself for not being stronger. "No- It's not that. I just-" I wrung my hands together. "I miss my sisters."

"You see them here, and you don't even acknowledge them half the time, Feyre-"

"Because they don't want me to!" I yelled, surprising myself. Tamlin shut his mouth in a tight, thin line as I wiped away frustrated tears. "Tamlin, I love you. I do. I just need my space. I need my family. You've been so wonderful to us, but I miss home. I haven't been anywhere but Hogwarts or your manor in years and I am suffocating. I-"

Tamlin slammed a fist down on the coffee table between us and I jumped, silencing my speech. My hands were shaking, I realized, and I put them behind my back. 

He looked like he wanted to say something truly awful, face contorted with rage, but he swallowed and stood up straighter. When his eyes softened, I thought I saw a flicker of the old Tamlin within the bright green and felt my heart lighten a bit.

"Feyre, I'm sorry," he said, more quietly than the rest of our conversation had been. He moved then, tentatively, as if trying not to frighten an animal, and wrapped his arms around me gently. And I melted into him.

We stood there for a moment, and I was naive enough to think it was over. He was okay with this. I felt my heart beat slow, my limbs relax-

"I'll allow you to visit your sisters more often," he said into my hair. "We can visit the other courts together, go to Lucien's home in the Autumn Court. Just please don't do this, Feyre. You know you won't beat them, especially not that brute from Durmstrang."

I pulled away, realizing that everything I had said had settled on deaf ears. Hugging myself, I stepped back, the confusion on Tamlin's face making me more angry than sympathetic. I had so many things I wanted to say, so many of Mor's words and my thoughts and Nesta's snide comments swirling around in my brain. 

"He's not a brute." It was all I could manage.

Tamlin sneered. "You're defending him? Why, because he talked to you once in Hogsmeade that day?" I blanched. "Yes, I made the connection after, who that bastard was. Rhysand Notte is the son of the new Minister. He's from the Night Court, Feyre. Those people are brutal, with no morals, no-"

"I know whose son he is-"

"Do you know he has dark magic, Feyre? And that he's quite skilled at it? That he might find out about yours and use it against you?"

I paled. I wasn't about to tell Tamlin that Rhysand already knew something about my powers, but the deeper implications hit me as he leveled his gaze at me. 

There were a few select people who knew about my secret affinity for darkness - Mor, Tamlin, my sisters, and the Headmaster. And Mor was the only one who knew everything I could do, and that I was actually honing and training it. The other students didn't know that there was any dark magic in me at all, nor did the professors.

And the Ministry certainly didn't know. 

My lineage was well-known and controversial as it was. If they discovered that a half-blood witch had somehow developed the dark magic they had been trying to rid Prythian of, I wouldn't be here. Neither would my sisters. We would likely be considered too much of a liability to even be alive.

"He could defeat you right now, Feyre. If your secret gets out..."

"I get it," I cut him off, needing to get out of there, to breathe. "I'm going to be careful, Tam. I promise."

Tamlin sighed, resigned. "I know you can't back out now. Just be smart. Use your judgment. Dark magic will only hurt you - you don't know how to use it and shouldn't try to figure it out-" I almost snorted at that. "And don't think you have to win to take care of your family. Your safety is more important. I will always be here Feyre," he said as he stepped back to me, gathering me in his arms. "Always."

I realized that this conversation had gone in so many circles that it hadn't accomplished anything. I was dizzy, tired, and so I simply said, "Okay." It would have to do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if there are typos, I wrote this on my phone :)


	7. Chapter 7

The clue arrived two days later.

Dinner had been over for at least fifteen minutes, and dessert had just appeared on the tables in the Great Hall. Mor was eagerly reaching for the pie when the windows blasted open.

At once, a tremendous gust blew my golden brown hair back from my head. I forced my eyes closed as I braced myself against the bitter cold and the multitude of leaves and debris that pummeled toward my face. None of the students had any idea what was going on, and after the first initial yelps of surprise, the whole Hall had erupted into complete chaos.

I knew, though. I’d been waiting for the sun to set. Waiting for my clue.

The sudden storm ended after a few seconds, a sudden quiet settling in. I opened my eyes wide, searching, as people began to murmur uneasily. Mor was sputtering, all of her blonde hair having blown into her face, and the pie she had been reaching for was flipped over completely. I paid her no mind as she pouted, though, because a willow branch had landed strategically on my plate, a line of a riddle written on each thin leaf:

_Though voiceless, I will cry,_  
_And though wingless, I will flutter,_  
_Though toothless, I will bite,_  
_And though mouthless, I will mutter,_  
_Be with and not against me,_  
_If I am not too hard to catch,_  
_I will guide you to what you need,_  
_If you wish to win the match._

Great. Maybe Nesta _should_ have been the Hogwarts Champion. She practically breathed the Ravenclaw Tower riddles, whereas I could hardly figure out the bonus questions on our Charms quizzes.

“What does it say?” Mor chirped, swiping away the ruined dessert with a flick of her wand and leaning over the table. She squinted at the riddle even as I read it three, four more times, but her silence at least made me feel less inadequate.

 _Voiceless, wingless, toothless, mouthless_. I started imagining all of the possible creatures I may have to fight that could fit the description, but came up short. Thestrals had wings, even though most couldn’t see them… Dementors had mouths… Boggarts could have any of those...

 _With and not against me_ … was I to work with an enemy? Did I _have_ an enemy? I nearly snorted at that, of course; half of the wizarding world would destroy me if they knew what I was, and some even wanted to rid the world of what me and my sisters were, even now.

The more I stared at the damn riddle, the less sense it made. So much for a clue.

Conversation and lively chatter in the Great Hall had resumed when I finally looked up and noticed that most of the Slytherins were staring our way. Curious. I tried to look confident, ripping each leaf off of the branch and stacking them carefully to store in my robe pocket. Mor’s eyes were questioning, but her face betrayed nothing; both of us were rather practiced in hiding our secrets.

I tapped on her mental shields, as I had done hundreds of times in secret, and she granted me access immediately. _Do you think I should even bother asking Nesta?_

Mor bit her lip and shrugged, glancing once over her shoulder at the Ravenclaw table. Nesta was reading something, but I knew her - she was likely gazing at a book, unseeing, seething inside just wondering what that clue could possibly hold. She’d be the most curious of all, but that didn’t mean she would offer her help to me.

When Mor turned back to me, she pursed her lips in thought. I knew she wouldn’t try to tell me we weren’t allowed to ask for help - both of us were Slytherins, anyway, and didn’t care much for rules - but I knew she was considering the price of cheating. They hadn’t told us, and if the price was disqualification, I couldn’t risk it.

A voice floated into my mind then. _We can help each other in… other ways._ My focus immediately went to my mental shields, which were high and strong, until I realized it was simply the memory of Rhysand’s vague statement the other night that had come to the forefront of my mind. I still wasn’t sure if it was a flippant sexual innuendo or if he was actually being serious. Not that I’d wondered about it. Much.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Mor said gently, sensing my unease, and we rose from the table. More than a few students watched us leave, and my gaze avoided the green eyes I could feel on me from the Gryffindor table. I tried not to focus on the fact that I didn’t feel violet eyes on me from my own table.

Mor and I walked in silence for a while, climbing the moving stairs without any particular direction in mind. The riddle became a constant flow through my mind, each step a word, each inhale and exhale a line to decipher. My eyes wandered the paintings of the castle, which had always been my favorite feature of Hogwarts, hoping the creative spirit in me would be inspired to find some sort of answer.

Sadly, that part of me had been dull for a long time now. I hadn’t painted since I’d last been home.

We finally reached the top floor of the castle, the only green in a sea of sapphire and crimson-clad students finding their way to their common rooms for the night. Mor lead me to the west side of the castle, as if in passing the Ravenclaw Tower entrance, we might hear my exact riddle come from the eagle knocker that guards the door. Unfortunately, whatever the riddle had been, we would not have gotten an answer one way or the other - Cresseida was again stuck outside the common room, and Mor held a hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter as we shuffled past.

“I swear the Sorting Hat had a lapse of judgment for her,” she giggled.

I scoffed. “Okay, Miss Least-Slytherin Slytherin that ever Slytherined,” I teased.

“Hey,” Mor stopped as we approached the Owlery, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. “I may be the bright, smart, bubbly, upbeat friend you’ve come to know and love-"

“Nevermind, I take it back."

“Shut up,” she laughed, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “All I’m saying is that you can take the girl out of the Night Court, but not the Night Court out of the girl."

“Couldn’t agree more, cousin," a deep voice said from behind us.

Mor and I turned abruptly to the entrance of the Owlery just as Rhysand was walking out, smirking at both of us. I noticed an owl flying off into the distance just beyond the tower, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had him sending a letter so quickly after receiving the clue.

“Feyre, darling. Morrigan.” Rhysand nodded at both of us, looking down momentarily to flick an invisible speck of dust from his robes.

Then, his violet eyes met mine long enough to make me feel like he was reading my soul like a wide open book, which wasn’t very long, before he turned to look at Mor. Her entire demeanor had frozen, a stark contrast from the talkative and giggling friend I’d walked up here with. Rhys looked similarly uneasy, holding himself with much less discipline than he usually did.

I wanted to speak - to ask him what he thought of the clue, to understand what he meant by helping each other in other ways, to play the game we so easily settled into whenever we were together. But I could sense that this encounter, this moment, didn’t concern me.

Suddenly, Mor laughed. It was soft, like she was chuckling at her own unsaid joke, and I turned to see that her honey brown eyes were sparkling with something like mischief.

I almost fell over when she stepped forward and punched Rhysand in the arm.

Maybe she was more Slytherin than I thought.

“Our fathers can go hex themselves,” she proclaimed as Rhys rubbed where she had hit him. “That’s for not talking to me for three years, you prick. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Mor hesitated for a moment before wrapping her arms around her cousin in a tight hug.

“Yes. Yes we do,” Rhys replied, wrapping his own arms around her. His eyes caught mine momentarily, and I felt a near physical blow to my gut at the sadness I saw in them.

Rhys and Mor broke apart, and I suddenly felt like I was intruding upon something, so I gave the back of Mor’s robes a loose tug. “I’ll see you back in our room,” I said quietly. Mor smiled, and I turned on my heel, nodding to Rhys as I took my leave.

I spared only one glance behind me as I neared the end of the hallway, and laughed as I saw Mor ruffling her cousin’s pristine, dark hair. It made Rhys seem more human, somehow, to chip away at the mask he seemed to always wear. And for whatever reason, my heart felt lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you couldn't tell, I live a rhys/mor friendship appreciation life always.
> 
> next chapter teaser: quidditch, our favorite illyrians, and much flirtation ;)


End file.
